The Myth of Trust
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] AU ending to 'Power Play'. A few seconds can make all the difference. Darkfic.


DISCLAIMER ~ Static Shock and all characters therein are the property of KidsWB and DC Comics. This story is written for fun, not profit.  
  
A/N ~ As this is my first story in a fandom I only began following properly in the last few weeks, I hope people will find it in their hearts to give me some feedback. Contains sort-of spoilers for the Season Two episode 'Power Play'. Title comes from the song 'The Myth of Trust' by Billy Bragg.  
  
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'The Myth of Trust' By Scribbler  
  
February 2004  
  
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'I woke up this morning // To find that we have outlived the myth of trust' ~ Billy Bragg  
  
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Last night I had a dream that I was playing basketball with my best friend. There aren't that many courts kids like us can go to without getting shaken down in Dakota City, so my dream-self and he invariably ended up at the Community Centre quad to shoot some hoops. Huh, even when sleeping we're getting hassled. Go figure.   
  
It was a friendly game – just one on one. The ball was half deflated and wouldn't bounce properly, and the hoop had no net, but we were having fun regardless. We always did.   
  
He was winning, as per usual. Again, my dream-world decided to be true to life and keep that competitive streak of his intact. I mean, of course, it's too much to ask that I win a game in my own head. Uh-huh.  
  
I was virtually standing still as he nabbed the ball and took off; landing a slam-dunk while my legs were waking up to the fact I no longer had possession and should probably follow him. I started to run as he turned, grinning and mouthing something about yet another match to his name and how, as a penalty, now it was my turn to foot the bill at Burger Fool.   
  
And then I woke up.   
  
It stayed in my head; a translucent image burning the back of my eyeballs. I could almost see his face, still grinning that idiotic, devil-may-care grin of his. For a second I just lay there in my bed, looking at my ceiling and thinking what a mundane, downright boring dream it had been. I mean, Virgil and I play hoops practically every day after school. Dreams are the only time I get to play hero, and suddenly my subconscious switches the goalposts so I'm back to being Mr. Sidekick again? Weak.  
  
I remembered it, then. I remembered, and I suddenly knew why I was dreaming about playing basketball instead of playing hero.  
  
I played hero in reality. And it cost Virgil his life.  
  
I never figured myself for the jealous type. I was always the voice of reason to our little duo. Virgil pulled the sensational stunts and I came up with ways of making sure it didn't seriously impair his safety, social life, or allowance.   
  
Even when he first became Static I was still doing the same kind of things. Granted, I moved from simple cover stories and copied homework to nifty keen gadgets and… well, bigger cover stories, but I was happy to stay in his shadow because I had something other people didn't. I was on the inside; I knew Static's real frikkin' identity, for crying out loud. Not too many people can claim to that, and for a long time it made me feel so special I was willing to overlook the fact that he was a bona fide superhero while I was the glorified butler.   
  
I knew something was up with Ragtag from the beginning, but I… I was so *stupid*. I wanted to be a hero and prove my worth so *badly* that I didn't think of anything else. I *couldn't* think of anything else. Pick a random guy off the street and present him with that creepazoid and odds are he'll turn tail for the hills. But not me. Oh no, I had to actually make a deal with the old man. I had to see what he was offering, and after I'd tasted power, I had to have more. It was like an addiction. Hell, no 'like' in the equation; it *was* an addiction. I was about three seconds away from becoming a genuine power junkie – not exactly what I planned to do with my life on Career Day.  
  
I think that's why Virgil didn't want me to go up there and face Ragtag – because it would mean facing my own demons only a short time after I realised that's what the old guy was. Sure, I'd stood up against Run and Jump, but they were just the minnows. This was the Great White himself.   
  
Some people would argue that maybe V was just worried I'd suddenly remember what I was giving up and switch sides against him, but I like to think he had more faith in me than that. Even after what happened, what I'd done to him with my new abilities, he came through for me when I needed him. That's got to count for something in the faith stakes, right?   
  
Right?  
  
If I hadn't seen – if I'd listened to him and stayed downstairs… It still would've happened, but maybe I wouldn't feel this bad.   
  
No, I'm just lying to myself. I'd still hate myself. It'd still be my fault.  
  
As Static, Virgil took death-defying risks on a nightly basis. He knew the dangers of being a superhero – he did. It was something we talked about a lot. He didn't like to, but I felt like it was somehow my responsibility to make him understand that this wasn't just some big game. By definition, lives were always at stake in the superhero business – not least of all the life of the superhero in question. He just never seemed to take that sort of thing into account when he went flying off on his disc or shooting at heavies like Ebon or Alba's goons.  
  
I never thought my stupidity and jealously would be the biggest heavy of all.  
  
You see, I didn't do what he told me. I didn't stay downstairs while he went up to 'deal' with Ragtag and close down this sick little operation he had going. Virgil was always all about the principles – didn't care of he didn't like someone, he still knew right from wrong, and he'd still help anyone who needed it. That's why he'll always be the better hero, no matter who turns up to try and take Static's place. They just don't get it like he did.  
  
I remember hearing the banter, and the grunt as Ragtag went down like he was having some kind of seizure. I remember the weird, implosive noise I recognised as his power getting started. I remember wondering why he was giving out more energy when none of his flunkies were around to defend him, and then hearing the words that'll doubtless stick with me until the day I die.   
  
"Yes, the gift works both ways. In a few moments I will have drained you of your entire life force."  
  
It was classic cliché villain; spouting about what he was going to do before he did it. Almost like he *wanted* someone to come up and stop him.   
  
I was the only one around, and I charged through the stairwell door like I could actually do some good.  
  
And then I froze.  
  
The next period of time is like nothing more than a series of snapshots to me. I can't quite recall the bits in between, but a few pictures tell the whole story as I stood there like some dumb, Ritchie-shaped statue.   
  
Ragtag holding Virgil's hands, an otherworldly light funnelling around them both.  
  
A pair of glowing purple eyes, filling up with power.  
  
A body crumpling, hitting the dirt with a dull thump.  
  
I saw it all. It was like, what, twenty seconds, tops? Twenty seconds, within which I could've broken them apart and stopped the power-drain before it did any serious damage.   
  
But I didn't. I froze up like a coward, and I watched as my best friend had the life sucked right out of him because I was too goddamn scared to do anything about it. I was scared Ragtag would do the same to me; that it'd be *my* empty body on the floor. The self-preservation instinct that superheroes don't seem to have was strong in me, and it drowned out every scrap of friendship and loyalty and trustworthiness I ever had.   
  
By the time I snapped out of it and did what needed to be done, Ragtag had enough electromagnetic energy to fry me where I stood. It was just pure, dumb luck that saved me from being a greasy spot on the ground. No skill, no super-heroics, just chance and a happy accident that made him trip and land in a dumpster three stories down.  
  
It should have been okay then. The bad guy was defeated, the city was safe, and the people once more free to sing their resident saviour's praises for a job well done.  
  
But it didn't happen that way. Because when I knelt by their saviour's side, he was already too far gone for me to do anything but shout both his names and cuss him to wake up before I pounded his face in.  
  
I was going to move. I was going to grab something and run forward and hit Ragtag over his stupid, creepy head…  
  
But I'm a scientist – a technician, to be precise. That's what I do. I make things out of scrap metal and wires, and I know how to spot patterns and see possibilities and potential or latent outcomes. I see trajectories, and when I saw Ragtag and Static I saw how the vectors could converge and put me out of the picture for good, like math is a language and all this was math and suddenly I saw how they matched and I *got* it. I really got it, like some kind of big epiphany. My brain understood; it went click and I froze, because I didn't want to die. I didn't want to be one of those kids you read about in the newspapers – the kind who get caught in the crossfire of super-wars because they're in the wrong place at the wrong time.   
  
I was so frightened for my own skin that I didn't see the trajectories all the way. I didn't follow them through to their conclusion. I saw one possible outcome, but I didn't see the fractals – the others. If I'd seen it all the way I would've seen what would happen if I *didn't* move; if I didn't run to help and put myself in danger for a friend.  
  
A few seconds. That's all it took. If I'd moved a few seconds earlier he would've been hurt, but he'd still be alive. Maybe people would've found out about his secret identity, but nobody would've cared because he'd have been safe, and we'd all have been so happy and grateful for that miracle that nothing else would've mattered.   
  
I let him die.   
  
He trusted me. Maybe he didn't say so, and maybe he didn't think it consciously, but ever since we were little kids we've always he each other's backs. We defended each other from bullies, made sure teachers didn't find out the whys and wherefores of tardiness, and helped out against the evil that was Household Chores.  
  
He trusted me, and I let him down.  
  
I haven't been down to the Centre lately, and Sharon and Mr. Hawkins haven't talked to me since the funeral. Mr. H. came up to me in the church and told me he wasn't angry and didn't think it was my fault, so I shouldn't blame myself, but I know they're both hurting so badly right now. I know they're angry on a deeper level than they're willing to acknowledge. After all, I knew that Virgil was Static. When he didn't come home and they thought he was just studying over at my house, I knew he was actually out whooping meta-human butt and putting his life on the line for ordinary people like us. I knew, and I never once hinted at it to them.   
  
Maybe not so much anger as disappointment, then. More to add to the guilt I already have.  
  
Should've been me, should've been me, should've been me…  
  
There was a big media stink when Static's real identity was posthumously exposed. People eventually tracked the story to my door, and my Dad attached so many chains and locks to keep them out you'd think we were living in Fort Knox. For a while there we were living on powdered milk and crips-bread, since journalists camped out on the doorstep meant grocery-excursions were impossible.  
  
My parents have tried to be understanding, but I can't talk to them about it. After the initial explanation and police interviews, I locked myself in my room and didn't come out for three whole days. Not until the funeral rolled around, and even then I was in two minds about going. If the police hadn't turned up to escort us there, I might not have braved the rabble to show my face.  
  
Virgil was a better hero than me, and a better friend than me, and a better person than me. He was so brave, because he'd already lost his Mom to the streets, yet he confronted his fears and went out there to help people anyway. He looked in the face of the devil every day because, as Static, he knew the devil probably really was around every corner. *He* wouldn't have frozen up. He wouldn't have hesitated to save me if our positions had been reversed.  
  
That's what started this whole mess – me wishing our positions had been reversed. I wanted to play hero. I wanted to make everything serious. I never realised Virgil kept things light because that was the only way he had the nerve to go out there all the time and face the underbelly of Dakota.   
  
I suppose I'm actually kind of glad the Hawkins haven't come by. I saw Sharon at the convenience store on Tuesday and she just looked right through me like I wasn't there. I can't stand the idea of seeing Virgil's father again, and having him know about me. About how I could've saved his son, but didn't because I chose to save my own worthless skin instead. About how Virgil's trust in me was worth squat when it truly counted.  
  
But that's what I deserve, right? If they hate me, isn't that what I ought to suffer?   
  
Virgil Hawkins is dead because I'm a coward and didn't save him, and that's something I have to live with for the rest of my life.  
  
I had a dream last night that my best friend was still alive.  
  
But it wasn't true.   
  
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FINIS.  
  
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